


come and fade me.

by katarama



Series: Tumblr Ficlets [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Past Abuse, Past Kate Argent/Derek Hale, Past Underage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 17:26:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4754864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katarama/pseuds/katarama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek goes out to a bar for the full moon and regrets it.  Stiles pretends to be his boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	come and fade me.

**Author's Note:**

> For the tumblr prompt: “Derek getting hit on by a predatory blonde female that is giving him bad flashbacks of She Who Shall Not Be Named and stiles notices and pretends to be his boyfriend, fake makeout ensues”

The light of the full moon fills the sky, blanketing the ground with soft white light.  Derek’s inside, but he doesn’t have to see it to feel it.  He’s felt it coming for days now.  The full moon makes him feel fragile and full at once, energy thrumming through his body and his emotions turned on high.  His skin and bone feel too thin to contain the rush of chemicals, making everything feel like more, even as he can feel himself growing stronger.

There’s something wild inside him, surging forward and fighting to break free.

When he was young, it came as easy as breathing, and he wasn’t afraid; he and his siblings would shift together, tussle in the dew-wet grass, working out the aggression together.  When they were old enough to fight the shift, they could stay inside with the rest of his family.

His  _pack_.  Family still feels like too small, too human of a word.  He didn’t understand how deeply different, how much  _more_ pack felt until he felt his bones aching to shift and had nothing to anchor him but the rage that came so easily with the full moon high.

* * *

 

Now, he can control himself.  He can hold back his shift, keep himself contained, hide every trace of the monster he is.  He didn’t have a choice, not once he was alone.  It was hide or be killed.

It will never be easy for him, though.  It’s a blue moon, and it feels like too much, like being tugged in too many directions, keyed up even with his nails and teeth blunt, human.  

It’s standing on the precipice of losing control, clinging to anger to keep himself from spiraling down into regret and guilt and loss so profound it makes him sick with the smell of ash and charred flesh.

* * *

 

Derek can’t stay in his building on those nights.

He left the burned out husk of a home that used to be his pack’s, finally, when he had two betas to deal with, whose control was even more precarious than his own.  The reminder was too much for him to handle himself, and an alpha feral and drunk on the power of three unstable betas was more dangerous than even his need for self-flagellation could excuse.

So he left, eventually moving into the building he owned.  It isn’t warm, and it isn’t home, but that was what Derek wanted.  It was a place to live, enough to survive, and there was enough space for his makeshift pack.  

Now that they’ve all moved on, to college and then to work and families, he’s left alone again.  No one is dead, this time, but he feels the strain on pack bonds, and his empty apartment makes him antsy.

He needs to be around people, even if those people are strangers.  He needs to be around healthy people, people sharing contact, connectedness.

Anger may keep his claws and teeth and bright red eyes at bay, but he’s learned that people keep him human.

* * *

 

He tried clubs for a while, but they were always punishingly loud, an overwhelming mix of smells and emotions and flashing lights and sound, and it was too overstimulating for his heightened senses.  If he slipped, he was less likely to be caught, but it was unpleasant, so he gave it up, in the end.

Now, he goes for bars.

It’s a waste of money, when it comes down to it.  He doesn’t actually like the taste of beer, and he can’t get drunk from it, but he always buys a bottle or two anyway, slowly peeling the label off between sips.  He sits in the booths by himself, only risking his hiding spot to use the restroom or to get another beer. 

He needs to be around people, but he doesn’t actually have to talk to them.

This full moon, there are too many young people there, and he almost turns right back around and goes home.  There’s some sort of event, a local band or something.  He doesn’t ask anyone, because he isn’t really that curious.  As long as they give him some peace and some space, he doesn’t really care.

It turns out that was too much to ask for.

“Mind if I sit here?” a girl asks, sliding into the booth across from Derek.  She’s probably in her early 20s, younger than all of Derek’s old pack.  She smells of whiskey, which drags up memories almost as vivid as fire, the faint scent sometimes clinging to plaid shirts and khakis, muddied with anxiety.

“I’m waiting for someone,” Derek says bluntly.  He slowly pulls his label back further, the ends damp from the condensation on the bottle.  Maybe if he pays her a fraction of his attention, she’ll leave.

“That’s okay,” she says.  “You look like you could use some company, until then.”

Derek finally gives her more than a passing glance and goes still.  Her hair is the wrong shade of blonde, but the length of it, the way it gently curls over her shoulder, the faint scent of sickly sweet product is familiar.

It’s the sharpness in her eyes, the curve of her mouth, though, that make his stomach twist.  The girl looks so much like  _she_ did, back when Derek first met her, when Derek felt his heart thump in his chest because she looked like she wanted  _him_ , with his big ears and awkward limbs.  No one had ever looked at Derek that way before.

He should’ve run then.  He knows better, now.

“I’m fine,” Derek says, staring at the ring of condensation left from the bottle on the table.  “They’ll be here soon.”

She gives him a long look, sees the way he doesn’t seem to want to meet her eyes, and she smiles at him.  She reaches out a hand, prying away his bottle of beer and setting it next to him, placing one of her hands in his.  The contact is unexpected and unwelcome, and Derek freezes up.  Everything is so close to the surface, with the moon, and even just this much, this invasion of his space, the abruptness of everything, takes him back.  She’s leaning over the table, and Derek can barely hear the words coming from her mouth.

Everything is coming back to him in flashes, the way Kate’s hands felt in his, rough from holding the guns she loved so much.  The way he felt pinned beneath her, helpless and lost, only for her to bring him back with whispers in his ear, ‘ _I love you_ ’s, the only real moments of softness he ever saw from her.

The smell of perfume and gasoline, a low, throaty laugh, a cruel smile, “ _did you actually think I cared?_ ” ringing in his ears.

“Woah, you okay there?” a voice asks.  Male, this time, familiar, enough to cut through the flood of painful memories.  Derek feels the barest edge of claws sliding out and comes back to himself, remembers where he is.

He glances up, balks when he sees a flush of messy hair, brown eyes hazy, a spattering of moles against pale skin.

The facial hair grows in much better now than it used to, but that shouldn’t surprise Derek.  It’s been years since Derek has seen him.

Derek feels like he needs a second to recover, but he doesn’t have it, not with the way the girl’s already starting to glare at Stiles.

“He’s here,” Derek says flatly at her.  “You can go now.”

“ _Him_?” she asks, eying him judgmentally.  Derek has to admit Stiles doesn’t look like much; his taste in clothes is still as terrible as ever, and he looks like he could use a nap and a shower.  He’s sharp, though, eyes flicking back and forth between Derek and the girl.

“That’s right,” Stiles says, trying for smooth and falling just short.  “This stubbly hunk of man is my boyfriend.”

It wasn’t the excuse Derek was counting on, but when he says it, Derek feels something settle in his chest.  “Right,” Derek says.  “My boyfriend.”

The girl doesn’t seem to believe him.  Derek isn’t surprised; he’s never been good at planning on the fly, and his lie was probably unconvincing at best.  “Right, like you’d date  _him_.”

Derek makes a snap decision.  He feels too tight, nervous at the idea of having to talk about it anymore, of having to explain himself.  She’s pulled her hands back, but Derek is uncomfortable.  Stiles is just as unexpected, but at least he’s safe, in a way this girl is not.  Derek trusts him.  Stiles is thin arms wrapped around Derek, keeping him afloat when he’s paralyzed, when he can’t keep his head above water on his own.  

Back then, Derek found him more annoying than anything, but right now, Derek is so grateful for him he could kiss him.

So he does.

Stiles is surprised, but catches on quickly, sucking Derek’s lower lip into his mouth.  It doesn’t escalate much, and the heat that Derek would have expected from Stiles doesn’t come, but it makes Derek’s heart beat quick in his chest, soothes the stress he was holding tight, dulls the panic that had been rising too quickly for him to control.

Derek hears the girl storm off, and he slowly pulls away.

“Well, that wasn’t the welcome home I was expecting, but I can’t say I’m complaining,” Stiles says, plopping down in the warm spot on the seat the girl left behind.  

“Shut up,” Derek says, but it’s soft and fond, even to his own ears.  

“I’m gonna make sure you’re okay,” Stiles tells him.  “And then I’m gonna go get a beer, and then we’re gonna have some quality catching up time, you and me.  Sound good?”

Derek feels more relaxed and in control now than he has the entire night, and the smile comes easy to his face.  

“Yeah.  Sounds good.”

**Author's Note:**

> On tumblr [here](sleepy-skittles.tumblr.com).


End file.
